


Inked

by Jenye



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenye/pseuds/Jenye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss gets her first tattoo and a lot more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inked

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for PromptsinPanem over on Tumblr, definitely check it out. There are so many ah-mazing entries. Never fear, I have a chapter for Lone Star in the works — eight pages down at this very moment. So terribly sorry it's been so long since most of you have heard from me. If you follow me on Tumblr(fourfinick) you kind of know what's been happening in my life. But besides being busy I've just had a really hard time as of late, but I'm hoping this story has kind of gotten be out of my funk. *fingers crossed* Also, please PLEASE note that I did my best to beta my own writing this time (because I procrastinate as a sport and didn't have time to get it to anyone else) so all mistakes are mine. Please forgive me.

“Why can’t you just get drunk and lose your virginity like most high school students do on the night of their graduation?”

 

As soon as the question is out of my mouth I instantly regret it and I can feel two very shocked pair of eyes looking in my direction.  My stomach is in knots and my anxiety level is through the roof of my old Chevy Lumina, I really shouldn’t be held responsible for the words that come out of my mouth right now.

 

“I retract my last question.” I mumble, chewing at the already abused nail beds of my left hand. 

 

“She could always elope, I hear that’s a new trend in newly graduated students.” Johanna grins, glancing in the back seat to where my little sister sits. 

 

“Please don’t encourage her with bad ideas.” I glare over in the passenger seat to my best friend. 

 

“Yes, because getting drunk and fucking for the first time to celebrate the next step of her life is a really great idea.”

 

“We’re getting tattoos, Katniss.” Prim finally speaks up from the backseat. “I’m not getting drunk, married, or sexually active — _tonight_ — I’m getting a tattoo with my big sister.”

 

“Fine.” I fold, glancing into the rearview mirror of the car. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the sexually active thing.”

 

The remainder of the short drive to the tattoo parlor Johanna recommends is easy enough. Johanna and Prim continue their tattoo conversation.  Prim asks Johanna how much it’s going to hurt and Johanna looks over Prim’s preselected design. They’re both really excited about this upcoming event and I’d rather eat rocks. 

 

“Here, park here.” Johanna points to a nearby parking spot on the side of the street. “It’s just a couple blocks from here.”

 

I silently park the car and kill the engine. My two companions get out instantly while I’m just praying my legs actually work when I go to climb out of my vehicle.

 

“They’re open until 4 a.m., Katniss.” Johanna comments, leaning down to look at me through the driver side window. “Prim and I can run and grab a bite if you want to have a breakdown in private.”

 

My middle finger responds against the glass while my free hand pushes the door open.  I sling my satchel-style purse over my shoulder and glare at the older girl standing on the curb.

 

“Why were you invited again?” I ask.

 

“Reinforcement.” Johanna wraps her arm around my neck as we start walking down the sidewalk. “There’s no way in hell Prim can hold you down by herself.”

 

Prim giggles beside Johanna and I grimace at both of them.

 

It’s moments like these I really know how much I love my baby sister.  I’d do anything for Prim; even face my unbelievably strong fear of needles. I had agreed to this rather easily nearly five months ago.  I honestly thought by the time her high school graduation came to be she would have decided she’d rather follow her friends’ ideas and have a lavish type of party to celebrate the occasion.   Of course, hers wouldn’t be all that lavish with our limited funds, but I’d do everything in my power to make it memorable. 

 

Nope, that change of mind never came. Even weeks before I’d try to pry confirmation out of her about a party and every time she’d simply correct me on my information.  She wasn’t having a party.  She was getting a tattoo with me. Her decision never wavered and my regret about promising her such a thing only grew stronger.   But I knew my fate; my sister deserved a promise to be kept in her life.  She’d had enough heartache and my fear of needles wasn’t going to be another to add to her list.  

 

And then we’re here standing in front of a brick storefront that has been entirely transformed into what looks like a masterpiece of a painting.  The old brink has been partially painted to look as though it is falling away to reveal a rather futuristic, harsh looking building.  The walls are painted to look like steel panels bolted together. Purposeful graffiti has also been added to the design reading the parlor’s name.  

 

“The Capitol’s Canvas?” I read aloud, only partially trying to hide my awe at the beautiful work done to this once worn down building.

 

“Pretty wicked, right?” Johanna elbows me before reaching forward and grabbed the front door that has been painted to match the rest of the design by looking as though it has heavy-duty chains blocking any intruder’s way.    

 

“Pretty intimidating.” I correct as I follow behind Prim to enter the establishment. 

 

The inside of the shop isn’t as I expected it to be. Although most of my expectations come from various television shows and movies so I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m an expert on the subject. 

It’s obvious the futuristic steel vision from the outside has transferred into the actual shop.  The furniture has harsh edges and anything with a cushioned top is made of worn black leather.  The reception-like counter when we first walk in is covered in steel panels that shine enough to look like blurred mirrors.  The countertop is polished cement that matches the floors.

 

The art on the walls isn’t the premade stereotypical designs for tattoos I’ve seen in my limited cinematic experience. Instead there are various size canvases spread throughout the red painted walls.  Artwork done by the different tattoo artists that work in the shop, I presume.  Some are oriental inspired while others take on a more modern, cartoon style. There are a few random landscape pieces. Some I recognize as actual locations within Panem and others look to be more exotic. 

 

My body has started to follow my eyes and before long I’ve moved away from the entrance of the large, open parlor to stand near the walls.  I’m slowly walking my way through as my eyes go into some kind of trance staring at the beautiful pieces of artwork.  I have never been a very artistic person myself so whenever I’m surrounded by those who are I feel slightly in awe.  And its obvious that whoever the owners of these pieces are have talent practically oozing from their very being. 

 

And then I’m struck still by a particularly small piece on the corner of a wall.  The canvas itself can be no larger than a sheet of printer paper, but the inhabitant of the surface is captivating and I find myself being drawn in by all the details.  The dandelion in the center of the canvas looks as though the wind has just caught it with a particularly strong gust.  It’s delicate stem angles to the left as the seeds begin to take flight in the same direction.

 

My eyes move quickly over the ‘PM’ signed at the corner of the canvas as I continue to look over the details. I want to memorize this particular piece and the sudden emotions I feel as I study it. 

 

What draws me in the most is the fact that the usually whimsical looking subject isn’t gentle in the slightest. The wind that’s pushing the seedlings off their rightful perch is a harsh wind causing the stem to bend instead of lean.  And the right side of the canvas, where the imaginary gust is coming, is dark and harsh. It only lightens as it moves toward the left side of the artwork.  The dandelion is not surrounded by other pieces of nature, but instead stands alone as some kind of beacon or symbol.  At least that’s how I see it and I strangely find myself wishing I could relate more to the left side of the canvas.  Because all I’ve ever seen in myself is the darkness and dangers that lurk on the right side.  And I know that same darkness lurks inside of me.  I wished I could move toward the hope I sense in the painting.

 

I need that hope.

 

“Fuck me, Johanna Mason —“

My attention is drawn away from the painting at the unfamiliar male voice, but my eyes take a bit longer to pull away as I finally turn around to where Prim, Johanna, and now a rather attractive male stand at the center of the shop. 

 

“Hawthorne.” She corrects quickly and steps up to the counter to lean against it.  Her eyes a twinkle of mischievous that I notice every so often when she feels like she’s met someone who she sees as an even match. 

 

Very few people can go toe-to-toe with Johanna. And even fewer live to tell about it.

 

“Aw babe, you wound me.” The blonde laughs from behind the counter and grabs his chest dramatically. “I was hoping you were going to tell me you finally sent Gale packing and were back to claim what is rightfully yours.” 

 

“Funny.” Johanna deadpans, her fingers tapping against the cement countertop. “I’ll tell him you send your love. How’s Annie?”

 

“Perfect.”

 

To my surprise the man’s demeanor completely changes. His playful features turn almost doe-like as he’s obviously approaching a topic he cares greatly for. I’m envious of the person who can create that look.  Not that I wish that look from him came because of me, but because the emotion behind such an expression must be deep and passionate. 

 

Passion is something I know very little about. Being out of my one and only relationship for nearly four months now means doing a lot of replaying and realizing. And what I thought was a caring and meaningful relationship really was nothing but a relationship built on comfort and habit.  Sure it might have started differently, but by the end of the three years it wasn’t much more than two people hanging around each other like two co-workers working with each other. 

 

But at nineteen, I thought he was the end all, be all of men.  I had just finished high school a year prior and was still dealing with the aftershock of losing my father two years before that.  My life had become one self-sacrificing routine.  He had been the one thing I did for myself.  His presence in my life benefited no one but me and for that I was kind of excited.

 

Such emotions really are not what relationships should be built on, but I was naïve and flattered at the attention he gave me. The situation as a whole really was not traumatically horrific and even the break up was mellow, but the aftermath shook me harder than I liked to admit.  I don’t do well with change and unfortunately a break up after three years led to quite a bit of change.   

 

With that being said, I truly don’t miss him. A fact I readily admitted to Johanna and myself one night only a few weeks after the end. It surprised the hell out of me, but Johanna seemed to already be in on that small bit of information because she simply nodded and handed me another beer.

 

“God Finnick, that woman deserves a metal for putting up with your ass for so long.” Johanna’s snarky comment breaks my train of thought and the man’s followed laughter helps to clear my fog even more.

 

“She does.  I’ll let her know you think so too.” He nods, looking down at the counter before leaning into it.  Placing his hands on the concrete surface, he finally looks around at all three of us instead of just Johanna. 

 

This Finnick character really is an attractive man; tall with an athletic build.  His hair is styled into one of those update 1950s styles that I’ve seen on a lot of men lately.  He’s wearing a pair of black rimmed glasses that I’m more likely to believe are for looks instead of an actual vision impairment.  His red, black, and white checked button down shirt fits him well enough to see the definition in his broad shoulders and the sleeves are rolled up for me to see two forearms completely covered in various tattoos. Even some of his fingers have smaller designs on them and that’s when I notice the titanium ring wrapped around his left ring finger. 

 

This man is something else entirely.

 

“Now what can I do for you all of you beautiful ladies?” He asks, his eyes moving over each of us.  His attention lingers on me for a bit longer, his amusement obvious. 

 

I feel slightly uncomfortable and turn my eyes to look across the tattoo parlor where I see several artists working on patrons in their chairs.  I try to see if they look at all like they’re in the worst pain of their life, but really they look as though they’re sitting in a doctor’s chair. 

 

“These two are wanting their first tattoos.” Johanna says, using both thumbs to point at Prim on one side of her and me on the other.

 

If the unofficially introduced Finnick didn’t look amused before he looks downright entertained now.  He pushes himself to stand straight up again and claps his hands once and laughs looking from Prim to myself again.  My own eyes look toward Prim who looks far more confident than her eighteen years should allow.  I stand here feeling completely uncomfortable while she simply smirks as though this whole moment excites her to no end.

 

“Excellent.” Finnick grins before he yells for the whole shop to hear, “Peeta!  You’ve got a pair of virgins up here that could use your _gentle_ touch.”

 

I hear some snickering coming from farther within the shop, but I don’t dare look past Finnick — who’s eyes are still on mine — in fear I will see the other artists and patrons laughing at our expense.

And now I simply wish the ground would open and swallow me whole. 

 

My eyes leave Finnick’s to stare at the floor beneath my feet.  I watch absently as I wiggle my painted toes against the rubber soles of my flip-flops and feel the heat in my cheeks slowly start to fade.  Johanna’s laughter dies from Finnick’s outrageous comment and they start into easy conversation and it isn’t long before I hear Prim’s voice joining in from time to time. 

 

When I finally look up I see another man walking up to stand next to Finnick.  This man is a couple inches shorter than Finnick and his hair is buzzed short, but I can tell it’s nearly the same shade as the taller man’s.  His build is athletic too, but he’s stronger than Finnick. I can tell just by looking at him. He’s wearing a charcoal colored V-neck t-shirt that fits him well.  Too well, I realize when I cannot remove my eyes from his strong chest.

 

His hands are in the pockets of his battered and torn bootcut jeans when he looks from Finnick to the rest of us. His smile is infectious and I find myself smiling for the first time since I walked into this place. And then his eyes lock with mine and I feel the rest of the world fade away.  His eyes are a striking shade of blue and there’s just something about his expression I cannot place.  I feel glued down by his casual stare and I’m almost certain he’s reading into my very soul. 

 

“God, please tell me he called me up here before his whole ‘deflowering’ speech, right?” The man who has me completely mesmerized grins at all of us. 

 

“He did, but I am rather interested in this little speech.” Johanna’s voice is teasing and I can’t help but be appreciative that she came along.  She really does have a way with dominating a conversation if she wants to. 

 

“For another time.” The shorter blonde smiles before stepping forward with his hand outstretched, “I’m Peeta Mellark. I guess I’ll be your creative consultant for the evening.”

 

Prim giggles at his small joke as she reaches out to shake his hand, “Prim Everdeen.  I’ll be getting a tattoo tonight and so will my sister, Katniss.”

 

I silently scold my sister for introducing me before I have a chance and I step forward and shake Peeta’s outstretched hand. And then it hits me: Peeta Mellark. PM.  He has to be the artist of that beautiful painting I could get lost in. My mouth seems to go dry and I’m that much more drawn to the man standing in front of me.  Every essence of him seems to not only draw me in, but also completely understand me. 

 

And we haven’t even shared a fucking word yet.

 

“Katniss.” He greets me, our hands interlocking for a moment before he releases it and motions to the entire group. “Come on back and we’ll get started.”

 

I seem hyperaware of the hand he just shook and the heat that the connection seems to have flared within my entire body. I follow behind Prim and in front of Johanna, who took another moment to speak with Finnick.  My eyes watch as we walk past several other artists with their clients.  One is working on a shoulder piece for an older man while the other works on what looks like to be a delicate piece on the ankle of a younger woman holding the hand of her significant other.   

 

When we reach his workstation, Peeta takes a seat on a small rolling stool and motions for us to take a seat wherever. Prim jumps up on the table he’ll most likely being using for our tattoos while Johanna and I pull up a couple empty chairs from around the shop. 

 

“So talk to me about what we’re doing tonight.” Peeta starts, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed matter.

 

It’s now that I become aware of the tattoos that line his arms.  Much like Finnick’s forearms covered in tattoos.  Peeta’s various tattoos all seem to connect to one another before disappearing beneath the material of his t-shirt and I notice there are a few patterns that even peek out from beneath the collar of said shirt.  I’m suddenly very interested in learning all the different designs he has felt worthy of covering his beautiful skin. 

 

“I want a caduceus on my inner forearm — just below where my elbow bends,” Prim pipes in instantly, holding out her pale forearm. “I want it to be kind of feminine and not too harsh.  Since the profession I’m going into probably won’t love the idea of me having any kind ink at all.”

 

“Nah, I moonlight as a brain surgeon. They’re real ahead of their times, the medical field.” Peeta smirks, giving my little sister a playful wink. She giggles easily and I find myself entertained by their interactions. 

 

He then slides his stool forward, reaching out to grab Prim’s outstretched arm.  Her arm suddenly looks so tiny beneath Peeta’s strong, inked hands. The colorful, cartoon-like cupcake atop his left hand looks out of place against his other more stoic pieces that continue up his arm. 

 

We all remain silent as he seemingly studies her skin, turning her arm this way and that.

 

“So we’re sure you want it on your forearm?” Peeta asks.

 

Prim frowns at his question and looks down at the arm he still holds on to. “Why?  Do you think it won’t look good?”

 

“No not at all, I think it’ll look great.” Peeta shakes his head, “But if you’re concerned about your future in your chosen because of it — and as much as I hate admit it, is a valid concern — I don’t want you to regret it later all because of the location.” 

 

“People may not like it, but it’s not for them. It’s for me.  It’ll be a reminder to me of why I’m doing what I’m doing. And I want to see that daily.” Prim says, sounding so much wiser than her eighteen years. “I want to be a nurse, I’ll always be proud of that.  Therefore I’ll always be proud of this tattoo.” 

 

“Atta girl.” Peeta grins up at Prim, who looks like she just got approval from the President himself. 

 

Johanna and I both look at her with such pride. I know I personally wish I’d had it all together as much as she did at eighteen.  I am so proud of her and even in small moments like these I can see the amazing woman she is becoming.  I can’t help but hope I’m at least somewhat responsible for that.

 

“I brought a picture I found online — it’s not exactly what I want, but just to give you an idea?” Prim says, leaning to her right in order to pull out the folded piece of paper from her left back pocket.

 

She reaches out and hands it to Peeta, who takes it and unfolds it.  He studies the simple black and white outline of the rod with wings and two snake-type figures wrapped around it.

 

“So do you know exactly what you want? Design-wise, I mean? Or do I have a bit of creative liberty?” Peeta asks, folding the piece of paper back up again. It’s obvious by the way he asks the question that he already has something in mind, he’s just being respectful of his client. 

 

“You definitely have creative liberty,” Prim nods enthusiastically. “I just brought that for reference — if you needed it.”

 

Peeta grins, pushing his stool back to get closer to the cabinets behind his station.  He reaches for a nearby drawer and pulls out a rather used looking sketchpad and pencil.  He rolls his perch back, getting closer to Prim now, as he flips through his book. I notice several different drawings as he quickly flips to an empty page.  I suddenly want to know the stories behind all of his sketches. From the small ones that are obviously elaborate doodles to the more intricate pieces that I hardly saw in his quick search for empty space. 

 

Finally he lands on a page he must think has enough space for Prim’s design because he sets it on the table next to where Prim sits and starts to sketch something.  We’re all watching him intently and my eyes drift to the sketches next to the one he’s currently working on.  One is an elaborate Celtic cross with several different vines intertwined around it. And next to that are the familiar boots, gun, and helmet of the fallen soldier symbol I’ve seen too many times to feel comfortable.  

 

He’s certainly a talented artist and I have a feeling whatever he designs for my sister is going to be absolutely beautiful. I tuck a piece of hair that has fallen out of my braid behind my ear as I slowly move to stand next to Prim on the table.  I can’t help but let my curiosity get the best of me and from my vantage point in my chair I could see almost nothing.

 

Prim looks up at me for a split second and I notice Johanna’s knowing smirk out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my attention focused on the sketchpad beneath Peeta’s hand.  Until I feel a pair of blue eyes glance up at me. I quickly meet Peeta’s eyes and give a small smile, my shyness returning instantly.  He simply grins and returns to his sketch.

 

I feel Prim’s elbow in my side and I glare at my little sister silently, daring her to say anything at all. She doesn’t.  She wouldn’t.  She just wants me to know she’s aware of what I’m doing — even if I’m not entirely sure myself. 

 

“And what kind of design are you thinking of getting, Katniss?” Peeta asks, his attention still on his design.

 

“I – I really – I was thinking an arrow of some kind.” I finally spit out, my nerves flaring to life again inside me as I realize I’m still going to be getting a tattoo. “Something really simple since I really don’t – I mean, I don’t like – Well this wasn’t —“

 

“She’s afraid of needles.” Prim and Johanna simultaneously inform Peeta.

 

“Me too.” Peeta says, looking back up at me with a twinkle of amusement in his eye.  He then gestures to the different designs on each arm.  “These are all wash offs I’ve collected throughout the years. Cereal box treasures and all.”

 

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me and I feel a sense of relief wash over me.  I appreciate his willingness to humor my fear instead of trying to convince me it won’t hurt or that this is somehow going to cure me of it.  Nothing is going to cure me of this fear.

 

“And where are we putting this simple arrow?” he asks, rolling just past my sister’s knees to be more centered in front of me.

 

My heart flutters at his close proximity and the fact that his eyes silently glide over me does not go unnoticed. My stomach twists in a pleasurable way as I see his eyes darken.  I may not have the most experience when men, but I certainly remember the features of a man who has seen something he likes.  And I’ve never felt more desirable than in that moment I feel Peeta’s appreciation flash over his eyes. 

“I think right above my hip.” I focus on my words as I reach up to point to my right side just above my hip.  “Maybe angled slightly?”

 

“Pointed upward, I assume?” Peeta asks, rolling even closer and reaches out to touch me, turning my slightly to face him at an angle. I nearly jump under his touch, but before he lifts the hem of my t-shirt he looks up at me. “May I?”

 

The question and his tone feel intimate. The gravel in his voice almost has my knees weak to the point I need to reach out and brace myself. My hands become damp with the sweat that pools in them and I can’t stop the rest of the world around us from fading.  My throat is dry and I swallow several times before I nod.  Words all but lost. 

 

Peeta’s hand slowly pulls up the material of my shirt and I watch him intently.  I see my chest heaving for breath and I pray he doesn’t notice the rapid form of each exhale.  But in true professional form, he seems to only see the canvas he has to work with. Suddenly I feel his hand come to rest again on my hip, his thumb touching the skin just above the waist of my jeans. My flesh ignites beneath the pad of his thumb and I can’t help but bite my lip to keep from completely coming apart.

 

“Are you thinking right in here?” His moves his free hand up near my side, drawing a feather-light circle against my skin with his pointer finger.

 

The spot of his attention is more off on the side of my hip and about an inch above the waist of my jeans.  The question is one that I hadn’t really thought about. To me this was simply something to do for my sister; the actual aesthetic really never came to my mind. I figured so few people would actually see it the placement really didn’t matter. 

 

“Um, yeah.  Sure.” I nod, more aware of his fingers against the sensitive skin of my flesh than the actual place he’s referring to. 

 

“Well don’t we sound positive?” He looks up at me with amusement. “Katniss, I refuse for you to go on to some cover-up reality show five years from now complaining because some asshole didn’t know what he was doing.” 

 

Johanna and Prim’s laughter fills the air and it’s the first time since Peeta’s hands have been on me that I remember they are standing there watching our interaction.  My cheeks warm as I smile down at him and laugh myself. He’s right.  I probably should have thought this through more. Or maybe I shouldn’t be standing here at all. 

 

“Personally I think it’ll look best right here.” Peeta continues, looking back at my skin.  Drawing another circle around that same area before drawing an angled line upward. “And having the arrow facing upward. We don’t need to be sending any subliminal messages with this arrow pointing down.  Or do we?”

My eyes go wide as I realize the meaning I could be sending with this tattoo.  Those thoughts had never once crossed my mind.  I look at Johanna and Prim and their amusement subsides only briefly when they see the concern in my eyes.  Prim can’t help but to giggle again, her hand quickly covering her mouth. Johanna pushes herself off the counter she’s been leaning on and walks over to me, a supportive arm coming around my shoulder.

 

“Trust me, no one is ever going to think you’re the one giving off any subliminal messaging.  There are probably nuns out there naughtier than you.” Johanna smiles, tugging me toward her. 

 

Her words are supposed to make me feel better, and they probably would have with any other company.  But now I fear we have Peeta thinking I’m sort of a saint or some kind of naïve hermit.  And my experience may be limited, but I refuse to believe I am either of those things.   

 

“But if you’re concerned about that, have it pointing upward.  Problem solved. Right, Peeta?”

 

Peeta’s eyes never leave mine. Like he’s trying to read my array of emotions.  His mild concern is etched across his features and I suddenly want to run out of the shop screaming. This whole night has turned out to be much more embarrassing than I would have thought. 

 

“You’re in good hands, Katniss. Trust me.” He smiles, soothing and calm. “I’ll never let you down.”

 

His words sound deeper than the context he’s speaking them in and again I’m taken off guard by their intimacy. He pulls away from our stare down before I can truly read his expression and I’m left needing to know more.

 

Peeta slides his stool back over to his sketchpad and starts an easy arrow design.  Thin lines and no fuss.  It’s probably too simple for most, but for me it’s perfect.  The arrow points upward at an angle and the three lined tall looks easy enough, but the detail is exactly what I want.   And I’m surprised he does it without asking.  Most probably would have simply done two angle lines at the bottom. And it wouldn’t have been what I needed.

 

I slowly find myself being drawn into reflection as Johanna and Prim talk together.  Both asking Peeta different questions, he answers them in a genuinely sweet way that I’ve decided must be one of his best features.  My mind drifts to the reason of my tattoo. And how much the simply drawing has hit me.  As foolish as it seems.

 

Johanna and Prim believe I’m only getting an arrow because of my love for archery.  And it’s true, but it’s not my only reason.  The meaning of everything in my life has been my family:  Mom, Dad, and Prim.  My life hasn’t been easy, but it’s all been for them.  I’m the arrow, always pushing forward.  And they’re the tail keeping me on point. Without them I wouldn’t be half of who I am today.

 

“Alright, ladies.  What do we think?” Peeta finally asks, holding up his sketchpad. Both of our designs facing back at us.

 

Prim instantly squeals with excitement at her design. And it’s nothing that she had originally asked for.  Instead of the traditional caduceus she had requested Peeta has drawn a small heart with a heartbeat line coming out of it and at the end the lines come up to read “RN” in cursive if you look close enough.  The whole design looks delicate and it’s absolutely gorgeous.

  
“You said creative liberty, but if you don’t like it I can —“

 

“No!” Prim pipes in as Peeta is speaking. “It’s absolutely perfect.  Better than anything I could have though of myself. Yes!  That’s it!  I want that!”

 

Her excitement causes us all to laugh and she practically jumps in place where she sits on the table.  Her hands clap together with excitement and as much as I’ve hated this whole idea I’m immediately grateful we decided to do this together.

 

“And Katniss?”

 

His words draw me back to the sketchpad and I look at the design he’s done for me.  The piece is probably the easiest thing he’s ever dawn in his entire life, not just career, and still I’m blown away by the emotional impact I have over it. And I’m suddenly not sure if it’s because of the design or the creator. 

 

“It’s perfect.” My voice has a sense of awe about it that must wash all of Peeta’s uncertainty away before he smiles back at him.

 

“Great!  Now the fun part!” Peeta stands, looking at my younger sister. “Let me guess, you’re first?”

 

\--

 

Prim’s tattoo doesn’t last long at all and before I’m fully prepared I find myself climbing up onto Peeta’s table, laying back and lifting my shirt up just enough for him to reach our decided spot. My heart races as I hear Prim walking around the rest of the shop showing off her new piece of art through the clear protective covering Peeta placed over it.  Finnick’s animated comments can be heard through the shop and I’m surprisingly comforted it all of it.

 

Johanna stands next to me, silently taking my hand. This is why I’ll always love Johanna. She’s certainly a piece of work most of the time.  Never one to openly get emotional, but she knows my very soul.  She knows exactly what I need and when I need it.  It’s the true traits of a best friend I’m fortunate to have.

 

“And if he hurts you, I’ll kick his ass.” She winks down at me, watching Peeta prepare the black ink. 

 

Peeta smiles over at her and then looks at me, “And trust me, I won’t hurt you.  Because I truly believe she can.” 

 

My nerves are high, but I still manage a mangled laugh at both of them.  I was fortunate enough to watch Prim get hers first.  She put on an excellent brave face, only giving in to the pain a couple of times. And Peeta was pretty honest with both of us, saying the two spots we chose aren’t the easiest to get through. But we both have small enough tattoos it should be too bad.  Shouldn’t be. That’s the catch.

 

I forced myself to watch as the needle continually moved across Prim’s arm and I only felt faint once.  But Peeta assures me it would be best if I didn’t watch my own tattoo happening, which was all well and good since I had no intentions of doing so. 

 

Feeling the cool anti-bacterial liquid rub across my skin helps my rising temperature.  I then feel the steady glide of the razor removing nearly invisible hairs from my side. And before I know it, Peeta had the stencil on my skin and is ready to begin.

 

“Go ahead and take a look.” Peeta says, I push myself up onto my elbows and look down at my side.  There it is.  The very design I fell in love with.  And it is about to become permanent. 

 

“Perfect.” I say, looking right at him.

 

“You keep saying that.  Hopefully I can make it so.” Peeta smiles.

 

“You will.” 

 

Our silence holds for a moment, along with our stares, and I’m amazed at my confidence.  I would normally look away from such a demanding, alluring stare but I can’t. I don’t want to. And neither does Peeta.

 

“Don’t make me get the hose, you two.” Johanna interrupts us and we both look away.

 

I can feel my own cheeks burning and I can swear I see a tint of red against Peeta’s flesh as I lay back down on the table. A smile plasters my face even as I hear the needle start to run as I realize he wants me as much as I want him.

 

Johanna keeps ahold of my hand and soon Prim is by my side also.  Although she’s more interested in watching Peeta than comforting me.  I take his advice and keep my eyes trained on the ceiling — fortunately a space they realized a lot of their clients would be looking at because it also has pieces of artwork across it. 

 

There is certainly discomfort and some pain as he slowly perfects the simple lines, but I keep my attention more on the gloved hand that rest against my hipbone.  Even though the latex material I can feel the warm of his palm.  My skin chills beneath it and I can feel goose bumps form across my stomach.  If Peeta notices, he says nothing and for that I’m slightly grateful. 

 

And soon enough the needle is silenced and he’s rubbing over the aggravated flesh.  Prim is telling him how great it looks and Johanna is looking down at me with an excited expression. 

 

Peeta finishes cleaning up my skin and tosses his gloves away.  Soon he’s reaching for my hand and helping my sit up.  He pulls me toward a nearby mirror, never letting go of my hand.  And before long I’m standing in front of a reflection of myself. My eyes train onto the small design and I step closer to really see it in full detail.  It’s absolutely perfect and my grin is immediate.

 

“I knew it.” I say, looking into Peeta’s eyes through the mirror. 

 

He’s standing just behind him and I can see the question in his eyes.

 

“Perfect.”

 

“I’m glad you like it.”

 

We stand there for a while and I can’t help but notice how much of a contrast there is between us; his blonde, buzzed hairstyle next to my dark, long braid.  My tanned, bare complexion next to his fair inked one.  His strong, demanding presence next to my petite, tame one. We’re complete opposites on the outside and yet somehow I feel we compliment each other so perfection.

 

It isn’t until Prim walks up next to me that I even turn my attention back to the new small addition to my body. She’s look at hers and mine together and just over her head I see Peeta’s amused expression. 

 

“I think we should get more.” Prim says, almost expecting me to instantly to say no.

 

But instead my eyes move back to Peeta’s and I can’t help but smile momentarily. “Maybe we’ll be back.”

 

\--

 

“You should have gotten his number!” Johanna whines behind me as we walk down the busy sidewalk.  It’s been nearly two weeks and still she can’t quit talking about the tattoo artist that “obviously had the hots” for me.

 

“Don’t you guys already have his number?” Gale asks.

 

Johanna gasps loudly and then stops in her tracks. Gale and I both turn back to look at her, standing right in the middle of the sidewalk.  People continually walk around her and we both just give apologetic looks on her behalf.

 

“We can call the shop!  I know Finnick would totally give me his number!” Johanna reaches for her bag and starts digging around for her phone. “Oh! Or he’ll answer and I’ll just let you talk to him!”

 

“Or we’ll go into the club and have a good night out so you guys can gaggle about this later.” Gale suggests, walking back to grab Johanna’s hand.  He pulls her along with him and when they get to me I can’t help but give a appreciative smile in his direction.

 

“You need to get laid, Katniss. And bad.” Johanna continues, linking her arm back through her husband’s.  “It can be so relaxing.  Really unwinding. Everyone should be doing it more often.”

 

“Did she drink before you left the house?”

 

“I thought it was iced tea.” Gale laughs.

 

“From Long Island.” Johanna giggles and then looks back at me. “We’re going out!  I had to loosen up.  And that’s exactly what you need to be doing — loosening up!  And Pee-tah can be helping you with that.  The world would be so much less stressed everyone got laid reg-er-ularly.”

 

My laughter fills the night as I listen to Johanna’s obviously tipsy conversation.  Gale just shakes his head and looks down at his wife, leaning up against him as they walk together.  I’ll be surprised if they even let her into the club at this rate.  We’re really going to need her to keep her mouth shut until we get through the doors. 

 

“Yeah well, some of us haven’t had built-in husbands since puberty.  We have to muddy ourselves through the waters of singlehood.  It’s exhausting.”

 

“And why do you think we got married at eighteen? B-because we really wanted to pay rent and be responsible?” Johanna asks, laughing uncharacteristically. “No. Nope.  Not at all.  It’s ‘cause we wanted to do the dirty whenever we damn we please without our parents deciding then was the perfect time for the birds and the fucking bees speech.”

 

“Yep.  That’s the only reason.” Gale chimes in. 

 

“Oh no!” She cries, looking up at her husband. “It’s not the only reason, but it’s a damn good one.  Isn’t it?  It is.”

 

Gale and I both laugh at how she answers her own question and then silently leans her head against his arm as we finish our several block walk to the club we usually frequent when we have the time. Lately with Prim graduating, work, and married life we all haven’t had much time together to really let loose and as much as I hate to admit it, Johanna is right: I need it more often.

 

“Alright,” Gale looks up at the flashing lights of the District One club sign and clears his throat. “Now the hard part begins. Getting this one inside without them realizing she’s already lit beyond help.”

 

“Hey Jo.  Wanna play a game?” I instantly jump in, looking at my friend.

 

“Yes!  I’m so good at games!” She grins and leans in toward me.  This is when I can see just how glossy her eyes are.

 

“Damn Gale, did she drink a pincher of ice tea before she left?” I ask, looking at Gale for a second before back at Johanna. “Okay great, it’s a pretty hard game, though.  You’ll have to really concentrate: find me someone to take home tonight.”

 

“YAY!” Johanna squeals and then instantly starts looking around at the people walking into the club around us.

 

“Hurry, this should buy us some time.” I mumble, pushing Gale and Johanna ahead of me before I pull my own I.D. out.

 

* * *

The music I heard easily outside, I can now feel inside my chest as the bass beats against the speakers.  I stay close behind Johanna and Gale as we make our way to the bar. Panem is a rather small place and so I see a couple of familiar faces as we weave our way through the masses. Most people are too busy moving with the music or interlocked with their significant other to notice us newcomers busting our way through the crowded place. 

 

When we finally reach the bar we are lucky enough to find a small space against the sleek, metal surface with lights lining the top. The bar is obviously the main attraction of the club; all metal with white lights beneath the surface that gives it a glowing effect.  The bar itself is in the middle of the club and bartenders help customers all the way around it. The liquor is stacked high in the middle, again something that is showcased in metal and glowing lights. The idea of the club is to modern, luxury.  The black and white interior design of the whole club does nothing but ooze that plush look. But even with the gorgeous interior, most come here because they’re easy on I.D. checks and the music is always blasting.

 

One can easily get lost in the grinding waves of people.  It’s the perfect place to disappear and it’s a place I’ve found myself lost in a time or two. And as awful as I felt the day after, the night of freedom was always worth it.  It was rejuvenating. 

 

“Well, well.  What are the Hawthornes doing out?  Shouldn’t you be knitting a new pattern and organizing your fishing gear?” A familiar voice screams over the loud music, leaning over the bar as he speaks to Gale.

 

“That was last night, Haymitch.” Gale grins, reaching out to accept the older man’s outstretched hand. 

 

“And I see you brought your housecat along with you. Special night, indeed!” Haymitch gives a wicked laugh over the music.

 

I don’t say anything; just give my coldest glare and a strong middle finger to the man who has spent most of his time here making fun of all his patrons.  And even though he is a pain in the ass, his cold jokes really are part of his charm. If the man really has _any_ charm. 

 

“Where’s Effie?” Johanna yells, leaning heavily against the bar to keep her balance. 

 

“Oh, entertaining the masses somewhere or on the phone with vendors.  Who the hell knows? I can’t keep track of that woman.”

 

“Why?  She change her hair color again?” 

 

Haymitch laughs, pointing a finger at me as he looks back at Gale and Johanna. “Whatever you three are drinking tonight is on the house.  It’s the least I can do for Gale coming through and getting Effie’s car back up and running last week.”

 

“Hey, it was no problem.  Minor fix.  But thanks.” Gale nods and then yells out he and Johanna’s order.  I really never know what type of drink to order at these types of places so I usually get the same thing: whiskey stone sour.

 

Our drinks come soon after we order them and then Haymitch is off to insult and serve the next waiting customer. Johanna and Gale hit the dance floor first and I’m left standing alone.  It’s something that sounds much more pathetic than I feel it is. Especially since I’m so used to it. I’ve been around her best friend and husband since they started dating.  I kind of enjoy my position as third wheel.  Plus, I’m a loner by nature and I personally enjoy watching others. There really is something fascinating about watching those who have lost their inhibitions to alcoholic beverages.  

 

And by my fourth whiskey, I realize I’m starting to be one of those people.  I’ve started to sway to the music in my place against the bar.  I’ve let several men get out some pretty pathetic pickup lines before I turn them down with a sweet smile.  And I’ve even made nice with Haymitch when he brought my third drink to me.  

 

I see Gale and Johanna all by rip each other’s clothes off on the dance floor and I can’t help but feel a slight pull of envy. Another sign that my drinks are getting to me.  Their relationship normally brings me so much joy and stability, but when my brain gets fuzzy I realize I what the intimacy that they have.  I want the inhibition to lose myself completely in someone’s eyes as they consume me on the dance floor.  I want to look at someone and have the rest of the world fade to black.

 

The cold rush I feel as I throw the rest of my fourth drink down my throat hits me particularly hard and have to blink several times to keep everything from doubling.  I sit the glass down on the bar and within seconds Haymitch has already placed my next one down.

 

“You’ll probably be needing this, darling.” Haymitch winks before moving on down the bar. 

 

I want to argue that I don’t need another, but before I can even form the words the glass is already at my lips and I taste the familiar citrus burn.  I look back to the dance floor to see Gale and Johanna making their way back to me. Both have beads of sweat on them. Their hair nearly wet with perspiration. And I can understand why. Even just standing here most of the night I can feel the heat rising from the gyrating bodies around me. To be one of them would be like dancing inside a fireplace. 

 

“Katniss!  Dance with me!” Johanna screams. “Gale needs a break and a drink, but I’m just getting warmed up.  Lets go be the star of everyone’s wet dreams tonight!”

 

I laugh, handing my drink to Gale as I let his wife drag me to the dance floor.  It’s obvious the sweat she’s lost while dancing hasn’t hindered her intoxication as she giggles.  And I’m just alert enough to notice when I bump into a solid form to my right. I hardly look over my shoulder with an apology before I move deeper into the dancing crowd.

 

Johanna stops when we’ve reached the center of the floor and turns to face me.  She instantly grabs my hips and pulls me all but flesh against her.  The music hums through my veins and I start to sway with her. Johanna has never been quiet about her interest in both men and women in the past, but it’s never more present than when she’s had a little to drink.  Her heart belongs to Gale, but her hands have never been apposed to roaming.

 

And I’m just drunk enough to let her roam over me. Our arms seem to intertwine as we move against each other.  I can already feel the sweat layering over my skin as I work my hips against hers. Johanna’s head falls back for a moment, letting her arms rise above her head as she sways with the music. I let my hands come up to glide against her thin neck column as my vision blurs and I feel the alcohol start to take a real effect.  Her sweat has started to mingle with my own and I’m getting lost in the rhythm of the music.

 

When her arms come down from the air, I turn around as her arms wrap around loosely around my waist.  I press flesh against her for a moment before pulling away and take on an impromptu solo performance.  My eyes are closed as I run my fingers through my sweaty locks. The music hums in my ears as the DJ eases one song straight into the next.  This one is a bit slower and that’s when I open my eyes to see others around me starting to slow their motions ever so slightly to the pulsing beat.

 

Then I feel a pair of familiar hands gingerly sit atop my hips from behind me.  My shirt hits about three inches short of waist of my jeans — perfectly showing off my new prized possession — and the feel of their hands against my flesh sends the pit of my stomach into familiar, pleasurable coils. 

 

“I’d recognize that tattoo anywhere.” His words tinkle against my ear and my inhibitions allow me to push myself flesh against him as his hands begin to grip my hips stronger.

 

I’m only partially aware that Johanna has found another woman to dance with when she doesn’t feel like going solo before I turn myself into his arms and I feel him completely engulf me. We’re moving with the music, but just barely.  My eyes find his piercing blue ones that are only slightly glossed by what I assume is the alcohol he has already consumed. 

 

“Hi.” He says just loud enough for me to hear him and I can’t help but shiver against him. 

 

“Hi.”

 

And before he can say anything else I move to connect my lips with his.  The kiss isn’t anything like the one I had pictured for the last two weeks in my dreams. A romantic kiss that gently overcomes my sense.  This kiss is fueled with need and passion and instantly overcomes my senses.  I feel one of his hands come to tangle his fingers through my hair while the other possessively holds my low back.  His tongue battles against mine for dominance and my hands grip his shirt to keep him flesh against me.  The world fades to black and all I have is Peeta.

 

It’s all I really need anyway.

 

My control is falling to pieces as I pull my lips away from his so that I can turn myself once again in his arms. This time my hips press against his with purpose.  His hips respond in earnest and I feel him thrust against me.  I gasp with absolutely no care about anyone hearing as I reach behind me to feel for the obvious bulge in his pants.  My hand ghosts over it before reaching up to grasp his neck and pull him down to the croak of my neck. 

 

His lips and tongue waste no time in familiarizing themselves with my flesh.  His lips draw a path from just below my jawline to nipping at my ear. The action causes me to again push my hips against his as my mouth opens in a silent moan.  My heart races as I feel a rush of wetness come from my core.

 

My hands move down my body unashamedly until I reach Peeta’s and I lace our fingers together.  I then start to move his hands up my body, allowing his fingers to linger on the healing skin of my freshly done tattoo.  This sensation seems to spur him on as he grinds against me. I left his right hand continue its gentle exploration of my new tattoo as I move his left hand below the lose material of my crop top.  I then remove my hand, reaching behind me once more to grasp at the buzzed hairs at the back of his neck.  I feel his fingers ghost at the flesh just beneath the swell of my bare breast and my nipples instantly harden. 

 

It’s then that my conclusion hits me. _I need more_.  And we either need to leave right this instant or more will be happening right here on this dance floor. 

 

I suddenly twist in Peeta’s arms and pull his lips to mine.  The kiss is short, but dizzying.  When I pull away I look up to see Peeta’s eyes have nearly turned a midnight blue in the darkness of the club and my heart races as I see the passion threatening to burst through.

 

“We’re leaving.” He says, literally reading my mind.

 

My fingers link with his as he weaves us through the crowd of people.  People I had all but forgotten about during our heated session on the dance floor. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the man I’m with, but the shame I expect to feel at the realization of so many people possibly witnessing our display never boils up.  It never even makes an appearance. 

 

We’re barely out into the cool night air before Peeta’s throwing his hand up and yelling for a taxi and then turning around to pull me into his arms again.  His lips are on mine and I’m completely lost.  We both must be because we don’t notice the yellow cab that has just pulled up until the driver honks at us.  We both grin at each other before Peeta pulls open the door and helps me into the backseat. 

 

I’m instantly attach to Peeta’s side when he climbs in after me and my lips are assaulting his neck, kissing at the hints of different tattoos I see there.  I barely hear him say an address that must be his before I’m moving my hands to glide against the material of his button down shirt.  My fingers slowly start to undo the bottom buttons, making the button to his jeans more accessible.

 

“If you keep this up,” He groans, leaning in to place his lips against mine. “We’re going to owe the taxi driver more than a tip.”

 

“We’ll send him a sympathy card tomorrow.” I moan, feeling Peeta’s fingers running down the back of my spine. “And a gift card for a free car detail.”

 

My fingers run over the top of his strong bulge, grasping firmly when Peeta gasps against my shoulder.  His hand moves from my back to gently squeeze my breast in his hand.  When his thumb flicks against my hardened nipple I cry out without shame until I happen to look forward and see the glaring eyes of the taxi driver.  My usual self would apologize profusely, but instead I give a shy smile before turning back to pull Peeta’s lips into mine. 

 

I can be embarrassed of my behavior tomorrow.

 

My skin is practically boiling against Peeta and right before I throw my leg over him to straddle him we feel the taxi come to a sharp stop and the driver tells us the fee.  Peeta blindly reaches for his wallet, barely untangling himself from me, and hands the man some cash.

 

“Keep the change.” He mumbles, reaching behind him and pushing the door open.

  
We slowly come apart as he gets out, offering his hand to me. I take it and pull myself out of the car.  I barely get the door closed before the taxi driver takes off.  And we both laugh at his obvious frustration at our antics, but the laughter doesn’t last long because Peeta pulls me back into him for a scorching kiss.

 

He only parts us so that he can lead us up into his apartment building.  The building looks far nicer than mine, but I barely have time to notice as he pulls me into a nearby elevator and flesh against him.  I don’t even notice what button he hits before my arms wrap around his neck to allow his lips to continue their assault. 

Our hands explore each other without an ounce of shame and before long I have his shirt completely undone and sliding down his well-defined arms. 

 

I pause momentarily at the new ink designs I’ve exposed on his chest.  Most of his torso is blank, but the designs from each shoulder travel over his pectoral muscles in such a beautiful way that I can’t help but slow us long enough to lean forward and place gentle kisses against the flesh there.  My fingers betray the lingering of my lips as they outline the strong muscles of his stomach, fueling my fire once again.

 

Peeta presses me against one of the elevator walls as I push the now offending piece of clothing off him completely. He doesn’t even flinch when it falls to the floor, forgotten.  His fingers reach forward and undo the button my jeans, letting a few fingers reach just below where the zipper ends and I feel him groan, resting his forehead against my shoulder. 

 

“Fuck me.” He moans.

 

“I plan to.” I laugh; reaching up to pull him to me again just as the elevator slows to what I’m hoping is his floor and not someone wishing to get on.

 

“No underwear?” He questions, pulling me out the elevator.

 

“I was hoping I’d run into you.” I grin as he holds me flesh against him.

 

“Good answer.”

 

We clumsily make our way down the quiet hallway, never letting go of each other, until Peeta needs to unlock the door to his place.  Then I wrap my arms around him from behind, placing lazy kisses against his shoulder as my fingers undo the button of his jeans.  I slowly pull the zipper down before I let my hand dip beneath the elastic of his boxers and firmly grip him for the first time that night. 

 

Peeta’s head leans against the now unlocked door of his apartment as I slowly stroke his pounding cock from behind him. My teeth slowly nip at the sensitive flesh of where his neck meets his shoulder. 

 

“You gonna open that door or you gonna fuck me against it?” I ask, my hand stilling against him, my thumb rubbing over the tip. The feel of his pre-cum there causes my own knees to weaken.

 

“Don’t tempt me.” Peeta growls and he’s removing my hand from him and turning around as he pushes his door open.

 

He takes my hand in his and before I know it the door is shut and I’m being pushed up against it.  My heart races as my lips crush against his and I feel his hands sliding just below my ass.  Before I know it he’s lifted me into his arms and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. I thrust against him as I use the door for leverage.  His hands are under my shirt, assaulting my nipples in the most delicious way possible.

 

It doesn’t last long though because Peeta pulls me away from the door as I wrap my arms around his neck and sets me on a nearby kitchen island.  My grasp around his waist loosens, but he remains close as he pulls my top over my head and tosses it somewhere else.  His lips then replace his fingers against breasts and I cry out at the sensation.  My hands hold his head to me as my hips buck against him.

 

I am all but lost for words by the time Peeta moves his lips back to mine and starts to tug against my jeans. I follow his silent command and lip my hips up off the cool marble of the counter to allow him to pull them down completely. I gasp when my bare ass meets the surface of the counter, but my thoughts are only on that briefly as I feel Peeta’s hands pulling my legs apart once more.  He comes to stand between them as his fingers reach between my folds to slowly tease my clit.  I am so close to the edge that this nearly breaks me into a million pieces. My mouth falls open into a silent moan as my head tilts back. 

 

When I feel one finger slide into me I finally cry out, my hips bucking against his finger.  Then he adds another inside of me, followed by his thumb against my sensitive clit. 

 

“Oh god, I’m going to come.” I moan, moving to press my lips against his as he continues to thrust his fingers inside of me to a beautifully destroying rhythm. 

 

My orgasm hits me hard and I’m left nearly hoarse from crying out Peeta’s name over and over again.  I cling to him desperately and I feel my chest heave against his. Peeta doesn’t completely stop his fingers inside me, but he slows them considerably.  His other hand is at the small of my back, holding me close to him and it’s then that I realize this is the connection I’ve been craving since I first laid eyes on Peeta.  And it’s not a simple lustful craving, but an actual connection. To be bonded to another human being in such a way that you lose yourself willingly. 

 

I finally come down from my high to the feeling of Peeta’s lips gently against my bare shoulder.  His fingers have left my center and are now sliding down my thighs. My insides burn almost instantly when I look to him in the darkness.  His apartment has no lights on, but I can see him in the street lights’ reflection from a nearby window.  He’s absolutely beautiful and he wants me.  I cause him to lose all coherent, rational thought.  And it’s now that I know my actions aren’t because of the alcohol. Not solely anyway. I’m not all that drunk anymore.

 

It’s Peeta. 

 

Reaching out to his undone jeans, I smirk when Peeta gives me a knowing grin and reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.  He flips it open while I make easy work of pushing his jeans and boxers down completely.   I hear the tear of a condom wrapper and look up at him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Always carry a condom?”

 

“I was hoping I’d run into you.” He smirks.

 

“Good answer.”

 

Peeta steps out of his jeans and kicks them to the side, stepping into my open legs.  I take the condom from his grasp and make it my mission to have in pieces before he slides into me.  I make easy work of slowly rolling the prophylactic down his large member, my lips nipping at his pulse point as I slowly stoke my hand up and down his cock. Moisture floods my core as I imagine this cock thrusting inside of me. 

 

I slide to the edge of the counter, leaning back slightly so that I can run the tip of his cock against my slick folds. The friction causes both of us to groan and my head bobs back as I continue to roll it around my sensitive clit. My legs come up to wrap around his hips, gently using my heels to pull him closer to me as I place him at my ready entrance. 

 

He takes no time in realizing exactly what it is I’m wanting and soon I feel him thrust fully into me.  I cry out at the delicious way he stretches me. The angle is perfect and with one thrust he’s hit my g-spot.  Peeta’s hands come to rest on my hips to hold me in place and I fall back on my elbows. He stills at first and I know he’s watching me.  He’s making sure I’m still okay and I wiggle my hips against him in silent pleading for more.

 

It’s all the encouragement he needs. He pulls out for a moment only to thrust make in and starts a deep rhythm that has us both panting and begging for completion.  Soon my arms give out and I’m laid out completely for his viewing pleasure and I have the most gorgeous scene above me.  Peeta’s eyes are on mine as he continues thrusting into me, his fingernails digging into my hips.

 

My hands come to rest above his and I move his hands to be atop my breasts.  Peeta squeezes them for a moment before moving his hands to come around my back and pull me up against him.  His thrusts are becoming more out of control and I’m thankful for the complete contact. The sensation of my nipples against the hard planes of his chest and the way this position rubs against my clit just perfectly has me coming unglued in seconds.

 

I’m screaming out his name yet again and soon Peeta is stilling inside of me.  I can feel him pulsing inside of me as I pull his lips to mine. This kiss is the one I had imagined for the last two weeks.  It’s gentle and lazy.  Our tongues don’t fight for dominance, but instead they tangle together like the rest of our body.

 

Without warning, Peeta picks me up off the counter and carries me deeper into his apartment and it suddenly strikes me funny that we only made it about fifteen feet into his place before having to have each other. 

 

Soon I’m being placed in the middle of a large, plush bed and Peeta’s hovering above me, kissing his way down my body. His lips don’t stay anywhere for long until the reach my right hip.  His lips trace over the simple design and I can’t help but giggle.

 

“Careful.  It’s still healing and my tattoo artist will _not_ be happy if you mess with his masterpiece.”

 

Peeta doesn’t say anything, just continues to explore my body.  His hands roam over my legs and then he works his way back to my lips again.  He gives me another dizzying kiss as he goes to lay next to me, pulling me into his side.  My forehead rests against his when I turn onto my side and I feel Peeta’s eyes on me before I open my own.

 

“You are my masterpiece.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Yes, Jo.  I’m fine.” I say between bites of a banana. 

 

I am only slightly startled when I feel strong arms wrap around my waist as I continue to listen to my friend squeal about how she knew we would be perfect together.  Although I’m not sure where she’s suddenly getting her sentimental side.   But another part of me hopes she’s right.

 

“Okay, Jo. I gotta go.  I’ll —“

 

“Oh my god, he’s up, isn’t he? You’re going to spend the rest of the day doing it around his apartment, aren’t you?”

 

“As long as you don’t interrupt.” I smirk, his lips tracing against my neck. 

 

“I’m losing your phone number as soon as you hang up.”

 

With that I end my phone call and turn around to face a beautifully barely awake Peeta. His eyes are squinting in the harsh morning light coming through his kitchen and his hair is just long enough to have a few creases in the back.  He’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts and nothing else.  He looks absolutely perfect.

 

“Nice shirt.” He leans in and kisses me, playing with the very shirt I made him lose in the elevator the night before.

 

“You looked so good in it last night, I couldn’t have it be a thing of the past.  I’ll definitely need to see you in it more often.”

 

“But not today.”

 

“Not today.” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck.

 

“Today I think we’ll look best in nothing at all.”

 

“I think you’re 100% right.”


End file.
